The next day, afternoon on the Upper West Side.
"I hear you're a pretty good shot." Slade crouched on the edge of the rooftop, his sniper rifle resting on the parapet as he scanned the streets below. He glanced casually at Jude beside him. "But I also hear you're even better at playing with toy cars."
"It's a bicycle, not a toy car," Jude corrected, lying flat on his stomach. He had a pair of binoculars pressed to his face, but he wasn't actually looking through them. Instead, he was staring at the translucent system panel in his mind, reviewing the combat data he had gathered on Deathstroke by buying it of course from the system. Unsurprisingly, the mercenary's firearms proficiency was assessed at the Master level.
"Besides, my shooting skills are only average. Not as good as yours," Jude added calmly. "But then again, I have two eyes."
Deathstroke's hand instinctively drifted toward the pistol at his waist.
He could only see out of his left eye; his right was completely blind. What was even stranger was that Slade himself couldn't quite remember how he had lost it. It was as if the moment the persona of "Deathstroke" was born into this world, the universe decided he was never meant to have two eyes.
It wasn't something that particularly bothered him. In fact, he had a vague, nagging suspicion that if his right eye suddenly healed, it would only throw off his aim. But regardless of his feelings on the matter, being mocked by a nobody made his trigger finger itch.
He was really being looked down upon.
Hmm? Wait!
Through the high-powered scope, Deathstroke's vision suddenly snapped into sharp focus, and all thoughts of shooting Jude vanished from his mind. In the far distance, on another rooftop, he spotted a tiny black speck.
It was the barrel of a sniper rifle.
Holding the black rifle was a figure wearing a stark white mask, with a glowing red targeting scope fixed over his right eye.
Deadshot, Deathstroke realized. And the assassin had already spotted him through his own scope.
A mile away, Deadshot had made the exact same assessment. He knew Deathstroke saw him.
Do I take the shot, or do I wait for Batman to show up?
In that split second, both master assassins came to the exact same conclusion.
Bang!Bang!
Two heavy-caliber rounds erupted from opposite ends of the city. They ripped through the air, perfectly aligned within their respective scopes.
They collided dead-center in mid-air.
Clang!
In that fleeting moment, both men silently raised their estimation of the other.
"Hey, what the hell?!"
Jude violently flinched, startled out of his wits by the sudden, deafening roar of Deathstroke's rifle. He whipped his head around. "Why are you—"
"Sniper—!"
Deathstroke rolled hard to the side, shouting the warning a fraction of a second too late. He cut himself off, his lone eye widening slightly. Without even thinking, Jude had perfectly mirrored his tactical roll, throwing himself out of the line of fire.
What a fast reaction! Deathstroke thought. This guy's survival instinct is top-notch.
A mile away, Deadshot's scope shifted as he lost his target. Seeing Jude vanish behind cover, Deadshot aborted his second shot. If the guy in the black robe had been even a millisecond slower, Deadshot's bullet would have already taken his head off.
"Pity," Deathstroke sighed. It was unclear if he was disappointed that his bullet hadn't killed Deadshot, or disappointed that Jude's reflexes were too fast for him to get caught in the crossfire.
Without hesitation, Deathstroke fired one suppressing shot toward the distant rooftop, then sprinted for the rooftop access door. It was obvious he had no intention of engaging in a drawn-out, ultra-long-range sniper duel with Deadshot. The odds of a clean victory just weren't high enough.
"Oh my god, wait for me! I'm still out here!"
Jude acted decisively, scrambling to his feet and sprinting nimbly after him. As soon as Deadshot recovered from his dodge, he raised his rifle again, only to see the heavy iron door swinging shut through his scope.
Pretty quick, Deadshot mused.
He immediately packed up his rifle and relocated, hunting for a new vantage point to ensure Deathstroke couldn't peek out and counterattack. He kept his scope trained on the building's doors and windows—if either of them dared to step outside, they would be met with immediate, lethal force.
Meanwhile, high above the streets, a dark silhouette spread its wings, gliding silently into the war zone. Hearing the unmistakable crack of sniper fire, Batman folded his cape mid-air, fired his grapple gun, and swung toward the battlefield.
The Joker knew that Batman relied heavily on the Batmobile and the Batcycle. To cripple the Bat's mobility, he had set up heavy barricades and heavily armed sentries at every major intersection in the Upper West Side, forcing Batman to enter the territory on foot.
He had the Batwing on standby, of course, but a massive jet was far too loud and eye-catching. It completely contradicted his stealth tactics and was strictly reserved for an emergency extraction. Besides, fighter jets weren't invincible; a lucky rocket could bring it crashing down.
Two distinct shots. Both large-caliber sniper rifles, custom loads, Batman calculated rapidly as he swung between the skyscrapers. The sound is familiar. They were firing from extreme distance, but the reaction time was virtually zero. The shots were simultaneous.
Two masters. Top-tier marksmen.Floyd and Slade? Did they just happen to run into each other?
No—they're both here to snipe me.
By the time his boots touched down on a balcony overlooking the area, Batman had already pieced the entire scenario together.
I have to stop them. If two top-tier mercenaries go to war in the middle of Gotham, the collateral damage will be catastrophic.
He slipped over the edge of the balcony, but the rooftop was already empty. The shooters had relocated.
Rat-tat-tat!Pow, pow!
Two new bursts of gunfire echoed through the concrete canyon. This time, the sound originated from the streets near Gotham Center Station, and the rhythm had changed. Assault rifles. Deathstroke was using controlled, lethal short bursts, while Deadshot was returning fire with methodical, pinpoint single shots.
Batman launched himself off the balcony, chasing the gunfire toward the station.
When Batman closed in on the area, Jude was currently huddled safely behind a thick concrete pillar, watching Deathstroke lay down suppressing fire toward Deadshot's position.
"Why didn't you bring your bike?" Deathstroke asked calmly as he reloaded. "Its mobility and concealment are at least commendable."
"I have it right here." Jude shrugged. He reached under his black robe and casually pulled out a fully folded bicycle. "But the moment this thing enters his line of sight, he's definitely going to shoot it."
Deathstroke paused, staring at the bike. "...Where did you get that from? Never mind. From now on, you follow my instructions. You get on that bike and ride the exact route I give you. I'll use the distraction to close the gap and engage Deadshot in close combat."
"Won't that put me in danger?"
Deathstroke's hand slowly moved back toward his pistol.
"Okay, okay! Let's talk this through, no need for violence!"
In the Deadshot's sight, a shadow suddenly flashed through the gap in the alley.
"Ok?"
He immediately turned the gun around but did not pull the trigger - the moment the man showed up, he completed the calculation in his mind.
The distance between the shooting point and the gap was about 740 meters. It took one second for the bullet to fly over, and the man's position was exposed for about half a second, making it impossible to complete the shooting.
But then again, is that a bicycle? Why is it going so ridiculously fast?
Is that the Bike Stripper on TV?